The road to marriage equality here in New Jersey has been a long, difficult and expensive one. It began specifically more than a decade ago, but in a larger sense, it began in 1969, with the now-legendary Stonewall Rebellion — the three days of riots in New York’s Greenwich Village that began the gay liberation movement.

Marriage was not part of our gay agenda in 1969 (the term “gay” in those days referred to everyone in the lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgendered community, now more often referred to by the acronym LGBT). Back then, we gays only asked: “Stop beating us up. Stop sending us to jail. Let us live.”

Almost half a century has gone by since then, during which we came to realize that the only way we could survive was not as a tolerated sub-species but as fully equal citizens and that included the right to have our relationships respected and recognized, just as are those of all other citizens. We had to achieve marriage.

“For richer, for poorer; for better, for worse; in sickness and in health” — at last these words apply to us in the LGBT community. Sacrifices have been made to get us here and tears come to my eyes when I pause to remember the many brave men and women who fought the battles of this struggle over the long years since Stonewall but are not here today to savor the victory. AIDS claimed many of them and old age claimed others, but their spirit, their legacy, is alive and the victory we rejoice in is not only ours, that of we who are here now, but is a heritage of courage that has distinguished our fight for liberation. We changed the world — “we few, we happy few, we band of brothers,” in the words of Shakespeare’s “Henry V.”

Margaret Mead famously said, “Never doubt that a few dedicated people can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.” Certainly we were but a few and we began with nothing – nothing at all. We had no power, no money, no status except the lowest of the low. It was illegal in every state for us to even exist. Yet here we are today, in triumph over the dark forces of repression, bigotry and hate.

Our victory is more, much more, than a final step in the equality of a minority here in our own nation. It is a message of empowerment for the oppressed, the beaten, the hated, the disenfranchised everywhere. It says: “We who were nothing and no one, we who were despised and spat upon, we changed the world and so can you!”

I have the honor to be an adjunct professor of history at Mercer County Community College. Every semester, at some point, I deliver that sermon to my students — that whatever their cause, whatever issue inflames their hearts, they CAN create change and, if they doubt it, just see what we did.

Liberty and equality are contagious. Those qualities may be suppressed, they may be chained and throttled, but the dream they inspire cannot be destroyed. Time and time again, it is reborn and advanced by a brave few, a happy few, a band of brothers and sisters. So it has always been and today, our triumph gives proof that the dream is still alive and well. It will live on to inspire others in ways and for causes we cannot guess, but which we may be confident will appear and flourish as young people look back and say, “They did it. So can we. We can change the world.”